Morningside Cuesta it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise & rationality

"paa, what does 'bastard' mean?"

rajendra blinked, then blinked again—a stupefied double-take. "where did you hear that?" the man demanded, fur beginning to bristle.

"rohan called me that when we were fighting the other day." the boy's verdant eyes were guileless. some anger, perhaps, left over from the quarrel. no pain. . .yet. mostly curiosity, the spirit of adventure that had marked him since birth.

rajendra so hated to shatter this kind of youthful ignorance.

"it means—" the man broke off, sighing, swallowing. but no use hiding the truth when his. . .son would surely discover it from someone else.

he continued. "beta, a bastard is someone whose real father is not dedicated to their mother. not dedicated to his. . .to you."

---

he still heard rajendra's words. he had never stopped hearing rajendra's words. rohan's first pejorative had not wounded him, but the clinical explanation, the definition of the slur, had hurt him greatly.

would that he could live in ignorance again! he wished, often, that he had never asked the question.

"paa, 'dogala' kya matlab hai?"

surya shook his head somewhat violently, as if trying to rattle the memory from his mind. it stuck, though; it always would. the moment his life had changed forever because of one stupid little question.

the yearling trotted across the expanse, kicking up remaining frost in his wake. it was too cold, still, with spring taking its sweet time. like his father (not that he knew this) the warmer southern climate was more to his liking. the winter had lasted too long.

with the winter came hunger, and surya stopped, nose lifted and scenting for game. hunting was still somewhat of a challenge; with no teacher since he was seven moons, he had been forced to train himself in order to survive. perhaps a mentor could be found here.

right now, all he wanted to do was go home—and that just wasn't possible.